


Day 24: Wheeljack

by GemmaRose



Series: Lost Light Fest 2019 [13]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bath Sex, Bathing/Washing, Begging, Dirty Talk, Eggpreg, Established Relationship, Finger Sucking, Lapdance, M/M, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 08:37:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21158756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemmaRose/pseuds/GemmaRose
Summary: Wheeljack has a new invention, and aplan.





	Day 24: Wheeljack

Wheeljack grinned at himself in the mirror, audial fins glowing a dull pinkish red as he checked the latches on his new chestplate again. They _should_ come undone with a single zap of charge, but he’d not had time to test how much of that charge would be conducted through to his sensitive derma below. Hopefully it wasn’t a whole lot, he wanted this to be impressive. A quick check of his internal chronometer against their communal calendar showed that Prowl wasn’t due to get off work for another few hours, and Wheeljack set a little timer for a cycle after that, allowing time for them to clean up before their flatmate finished chatting up his courtmate at the cafe on his way home. Wheeljack smoothed a hand over the curve of his abdomen, audial fins glowing brighter as he turned away. Ratchet was going to love this.

He peeked cautiously out of their room down the short hall to the common room, straining his sensors to tell if Ratchet was still where he’d been earlier. All signs pointed to yes, and Wheeljack quieted his fans as much as he could as he walked down the hall, keeping his field furled tight. Sure enough, his partner was still sat on the low-backed couch, one pede propped up on his knee, the datapad in his hand holding his attention completely. The paperwork for some new patient at his clinic, probably. Wheeljack would normally feel bad about interrupting Ratchet like this while he did work, but tonight he was a mech on a mission.

He slipped around the end of the couch to stand in front of Ratchet, planted a pede on the couch next to him, and swatted the datapad clean out of his hands. It thunked against the wall, and Ratchet’s helm snapped up with a flash of his lovely blue optics. Whatever retort he’d had ready on the tip of his glossa vanished in an instant though, his jaw falling slack as his optics swept down Wheeljack’s frame, then back up, taking in the shiny new polish and armour that revealed just the right amount of all his best assets, the ones Ratchet could never keep his hands off of in the berth. “Like what you see?” he teased, laying a hand on Ratchet’s chest and pushing him back until he was seated properly.

“Very much.” Ratchet’s engine revved, and Wheeljack flared his field playfully as he swatted away his partner’s reaching hands.

“No touching. Not yet.” he grinned, audial fins so warm he was sure they must be glowing more pink than red. “I’ve something to show you.”

“Alright.” Ratchet settled into his spot, drawing his arms back to rest his elbows on the back of the couch. “Show me.”

Wheeljack sent a command to the audio system he’d convinced Prowl to help him install a couple stellar cycles back, and a piece of music Jazz had sent him started playing over it. He placed his other hand on Ratchet’s chestplate as well, and slid his hands up to rest lightly on his partner’s shoulders. He’d done most of his practicing before their latest test of the ovi synthblend, and the lifeless clutch in his gestation tank altered his balance enough he’d rather have something to lean on.

The routine started with his hips, a roll that turned into something like a lunge, hip cabling stretching as far as it’d go so he could bring his hips closer to Ratchet’s without actually touching. He dragged his hands back down Ratchet’s chest, along the seams at the sides this time, then pushed off his partner as the music reached a brassy little solo and spun on the front pede he’d kept on the floor, setting his hands on his hips and tracing them up his sides, swaying to the rhythm of the music. Ratchet’s fans were spinning up quickly, his field ripe with _appreciation affection **desire**_, and Wheeljack deliberately flared his audial fins as pink as they’d go as he spun back around.

Ratchet was transfixed, and Wheeljack drew his hands up his frame again, dragging sparks along his seams and letting his own fans kick on with a roar. Ratchet’s responded in kind, and Wheeljack didn’t have to fake his gasp at all when the sparks following his fingertips danced along the underside of his chestplate. His arms crossed in front of his face as he dragged his fingers up the sides of his chestplate, each latch giving way just as planned and sending charge straight through to his derma. At this point he wasn’t sure if that was a bad thing or not, his valve ached behind his panel but Ratchet’s fans were running so high they’d started making an unhealthy sound, so he was still definitely the less charged of the two of them.

It was rather gratifying, having such empirical evidence that even with all the mods he’d acquired testing his own creations Ratchet still found him attractive. It was also nice to know that Ratchet was going to pound him through the berth after this, revved up as he was. Wheeljack sauntered closer as he brought his arms high enough to see beneath them, his chestplate falling off with a clatter as he came to a stop in front of Ratchet. One of Ratchet’s hands lifted, the mech barely seeming aware of it, and Wheeljack snapped his facemask back to show his smirk as he planted his knees on either side of Ratchet’s thighs, belly sticking out just far enough to brush Ratchet’s armour, charge grounding in his exposed derma and drawing a moan from his vocaliser as he caught the offending hand by the wrist.

“What did I say about touching?” he teased, and brought Ratchet’s hand up to his mouth to kiss along the knuckles. Ratchet moaned, and Wheeljack hummed along with the music as he took two of his partner’s fingers into his mouth. Ratchet jackknifed up off the couch, hips clanging against Wheeljack’s and making him moan, glossa swirling around the digits in his mouth as he sucked on them. For a mech who largely claimed to be above Unicron’s myriad temptations, Ratchet sure did cave quickly as soon as someone got his fingers in their mouth. Medic hands, _so_ sensitive.

“Frag, Jackie.” Ratchet panted, grabbing onto his hip and rolling his hips up against Wheeljack’s, panel scorching hot. “Do that again and my panel’s not gonna survive it.”

“And what if I don’t want your panel to survive this?” Wheeljack asked, letting Ratchet’s fingers fall from his mouth to better smirk at him, field broadcasting his intent loud and clear.

Ratchet’s engine _roared_, and Wheeljack yelped as his partner surged under him, hands grabbing him by the aft. “That’s it. Berth, _now_.”

“Berth’s- ah, berth’s not an option.” Wheeljack panted, his panel pressing against Ratchet’s, valve cycling down on nothing. So close, Ratchet’s spike was _so close_.

“Dammit, Wheeljack.” Ratchet growled, and Wheeljack wrapped his legs around his partner’s waist as Ratchet started down the hall to the berthrooms anyways. “Plan B, then.”

“Prowl’s gonna kill us.” Wheeljack laughed, and Ratchet kissed him as his powerful engine growled, the vibration shivering through Wheeljack’s frame.

“No he won’t.” Ratchet promised, and moved one hand from Wheeljack’s aft to press to the operation panel of the bathroom door. Oh, yeah, Prowl wouldn’t get mad at them for fragging in here so long as they weren’t keeping him from his shower doing it. And, bonus, easy clean-up!

“You’re so sexy when you’re smart.” he purred, and Ratchet promptly dropped him. He yelped as he landed on his aft in the tub, and Ratchet bent to turn the solvent tap on warm. “Rude.” he huffed as Ratchet plugged the drain, crossing his arms with a pout that melted as soon as Ratchet pressed a kiss to his lips.

“And you’re so much sexier when you’re not covered in Jazz’s polish.”

Wheeljack flushed, the red of his audial fins reflecting off the tiled walls. “You noticed?”

“Took me a klik, but yes.” Ratchet knelt next to the tub and helped shuffle Wheeljack into a better position.

“A shower would be faster, you know.” Wheeljack pointed out, sliding down in the tub until he could rest the heels of his pedes in the warm solvent.

“I’m not fragging you in the shower again.” Ratchet said flatly, sitting back and reaching for his modesty panel. “Not after last time.”

“You have a point.” Wheeljack admitted, and Ratchet reached over to remove his modesty panel as well. He shivered at the touch, and grinned salaciously at his partner. “I updated my hardware.” he said proudly, gathering sparks of charge at his fingertip and reaching down to trace it around the edge of his modesty panel. The conductive latches sent a full-frame shudder through him as charge sank straight into his array to burst across his neural net, and almost as soon as his panel fell away Ratchet was clambering into the tub on top of him, slotting between his legs like he’d been forged to fit there. His spike sank in unerringly and without preamble, and Wheeljack moaned wantonly as Ratchet put all that forged-medic strength to use in the best possible way.

His arms wrapped around Ratchet’s neck, pulling him in for a messy kiss that Ratchet returned with equal desperation, slamming into Wheeljack’s valve again and again, his wonderfully, blissfully thick spike lighting up what felt like every single node on each thrust. “Harder.” Wheeljack moaned, and then whined both vocaly and with his engine when Ratchet suddenly stilled. Not in overload, but with a field full of something Wheeljack was too charged to be able to focus and decipher.

“Not yet.” Ratchet said, a devious grin spreading across his face. “You know what happens when you tease me, Wheeljack.”

Wheeljack let his helm fall back with a groan, valve calipers cycling down on Ratchet’s spike.

“Turnabout’s fair play.” Ratchet reminded him, and Wheeljack flared his field with irritation and acceptance as Ratchet began to frag him slow and steady, each thrust powerful enough to rock the solvent creeping up their legs but no more.

“Ratcheeeeettt.” Wheeljack whined, arching as Ratchet ducked to mouth at the swell of one of his breasts, maddeningly close to his nozzle but not _touching_ it.

“Wheeljaaack.” Ratchet mimicked, his vocaliser going staticky at the end when Wheeljack’s hips jolted up to meet his.

“Ratch, please.” Wheeljack begged, and Ratchet moved to press a gentle kiss to his other breast, just aside of his nozzle.

“Please what?” Ratchet teased, thrusting again and sending charge skittering across Wheeljack’s plating. Not enough, not nearly enough, but just enough to make him moan.

“Please, touch me.”

“I am touching you.” Ratchet squeezed gently where he held Wheeljack’s hips mostly still, and Wheeljack’s engine snarled as irritation filled his field. “You know you need to be more specific, Jackie.”

“Touch my nozzles, my node, my spike. Frag, fondle my seams!” Wheeljack rocked up to meet Ratchet’s next measured thrust, charge singing in his system hot enough to scramble his processor but not enough to push him over.

“I’ve only got two hands, darling.” Ratched purred, and Wheeljack groaned emphatically. “But I _do_ have a mouth I can use.” he grinned, and that was all the warning Wheeljack got before Ratchet’s mouth was on his nozzle and his fingers were digging into his hip joints, pressing unerringly on hidden node clusters. Wheeljack wailed, the surge of charge pushing him over the edge, and Ratchet followed soon after, sinking his spike deep and grinding hard against the nodes there. Wheeljack whined softly as Ratchet pulled out, but thankfully his partner didn’t go far, only shifting back far enough to grab a washrag.

“Now, hold still and let me get this off of you.” Ratchet instructed, dunking the mesh cloth in the solvent that now reached nearly to Wheeljack’s hips and bringing it up to his armour. Wheeljack hummed softly, letting himself drift on the slowly fading charge echoes as Ratchet tended to him and the warm solvent crept up his frame. It nearly covered the top of his belly when Ratchet sat back and patted him on the side to get him to turn over, which he did without complaint. Ratchet’s hands were magic, no matter what the mech himself claimed. No other had ever made Wheljack feel this good from a single overload and a scrub-down in warm solvent.

“Can’t believe you thought you had to borrow polish for me.” Ratchet huffed as he scrubbed Wheeljack’s back. “You’re so fragging hot on a normal mega-cycle I nearly dented my panel just seeing you all shined up like that.”

“So it worked.” Wheeljack grinned. Ratchet swatted him across the small of his back with the washcloth, and leaned back to shut off the tap.

“It worked until I realized whose polish you’d borrowed. Next time just steal Prowl’s.”

“Prowl’s is dull though.” Wheeljack huffed, crossing his arms on the edge of the tub and resting his chin on them as Ratchet worked down his spinal strut. “And Jazz doesn’t have any at his place yet.”

“Yet.” Ratchet snorted. “More like Jazz didn’t want to admit it.”

“Yeah, more like.” Wheeljack chuckled, engine purring as Ratchet scrubbed crossways over his back plating. He let his chin slide from his folded arms as his partner worked closer to his aft, pushing his hips further up out of the solvent to display his valve.

“Let me get the last of this off first.” Ratchet chided, and Wheeljack huffed impatiently.

“Not all of us have your charge sink capacity.” he grumbled as Ratchet attacked his aft with the mesh rag, dragging it over sensitive seams and even wiping around his array.

“Turnabout’s still fair play.” Ratchet teased, but there was no weight to his words. Wheeljack could feel the heat emanating from his frame even through the solvent, and when Ratchet shifted to finally set down the cleaning cloth he felt the tapered tip of his lover’s spike brush his thigh. His leg jumped, and Ratchet chuckled as he danced his fingers up Wheeljack’s sides, flirting with the edge of his dorsal armour ended and the derma usually covered by his ventral armour began. “You truly are the most beautiful mech I know.” Ratchet murmured, and Wheeljack purred his engine.

“I mean it. You’re brilliant and beautiful, fearless in the face of discovery, not half bad in a fight.”

“Keep going.” Wheeljack chuckled, and Ratchet bent forward to press a kiss to the back of one of his audial fins.

“Oh I could. All night, even.” he rolled his hips against Wheeljack’s, and his spike ground against Wheeljack’s valve rim and over his oversized anterior node. “But I’d rather spend the next cycle fragging you so hard you forget your own name.”

Wheeljack’s engine revved _hard_ at that, and Ratchet chuckled low in his audial. “But first, you have to convince me you want it.”

“Ratchet!” Wheeljack complained, and Ratchet chuckled against the seam where his audial fin met the bulk of his helm. “Come on, enough with the teasing.”

“Just tell me how you want it, then.” Ratchet suggested, slipping a hand around to stroke over the swell of Wheeljack’s gravid belly. “Do you want me to edge you until all you can do is wail and claw at the tub, your wonderful vocabulary reduced to my name and the word Please? Or would you rather I just frag you hard and rough as long as I can, stuff your tank all full of transfluid and fry your processor with the sheer amount of charge running through it.”

Wheeljack whimpered, field flaring wildly, and Ratchet pressed a tender kiss to the back of his other audial. “Or perhaps.” he purred, hand straying up to grope one of Wheeljack’s breasts. “I could just keep my spike where it is. Tweak your nozzles until you overload just from that and grinding on the top of my spike. Wring every last spark of charge from your frame, then sink my spike into your valve and use my medical override to fill your tank in one go.”

“Second one.” Wheeljack rasped, and Ratchet laughed.

“No patience tonight, huh?” Ratchet teased, and Wheeljack _ached_ to kiss him. With his audial fins and their position though, that wasn’t exactly an option. Especially with his gestation tank pleasantly full of little eggs as it was right now, limiting his range of motion.

“Not really.” he retorted as blithely as he could manage, hyper-aware of Ratchet’s spike dragging over his entrance as his partner pulled back. One of Ratchet’s hands moved to help align his spike, and then he was sinking in hard and fast, setting a pace Wheeljack could only mostly keep up with. “Frag, yes.” he moaned, loud and shameless. “Harder.”

“Greedy little mech, aren’t you?” Ratchet chuckled, and Wheeljack moaned again as his lover complied. “So eager for my spike, your perfect little valve sized like it was made just for me.”

“It was.” Wheeljack chuckled, recalling the carefully calculated synthblend he’d put together that sized his array to match Ratchet’s. Ratchet made a strangled sound like his vents were trying to intake and expel air at the same time, and Wheeljack moaned happily as he felt the first rush of transfluid hit his gestation tank port and quickly get sucked up into his tank as Ratchet’s hips pistoned against his own. Maybe he should take Jazz’s advice and pop the question sometime.

Not tonight, though. Tonight he was going to let go and enjoy the myriad perks of having the best forged medic on Unicron as his lover.


End file.
